


asking the real questions

by Veletrix



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: (can still be taken as shippy tho the rest of you do what you want), (softcore at most then ill give you that), Other, also NO this is NOT hardcore quentin/michael YOU can shut up, also quentin has adhd and i have adhd which means its time to self! project!, and that is honestly the best description i could give you, based off a game i had, quentin accuses michael of tax evasion, title subject to change btw, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veletrix/pseuds/Veletrix
Summary: Quentin's been in and out of a lot of trials, but this has definitely been the weirdest so far.Since when has Myers ever shown anything close to resembling mercy?





	asking the real questions

**Author's Note:**

> its your girl, back at it again with an unedited fic at four am
> 
> god help me

Quentin surveyed the clusterfuck from a safe distance, trying to figure out how he could potentially make it worse.

Kate was on a hook, and had just hit her struggle stage, furiously pushing back the spider legs as Dwight crouched nearby, hidden away behind a tree. He’s been there since she was hooked, but has been unable to make the save as Myers has been chasing Laurie all around the area the whole time.

Laurie was smart, and quick on her feet, and thus has yet to take a hit, but she still is looping him around a very much dying Kate, and it’s gotten to a point where Quentin has to wonder if Laurie even has a plan. Myers was in tier three, and Dwight doesn’t even have Borrowed Time, that much Quentin knew. 

Quentin has tried to drag Myers away, at least, running in the open towards Kate, and turning back around once Myers caught sight of him, ready to take him on a run. Unfortunately, every time, once Quentin rounded the corner of Crotus Prenn Asylum, Myers peeled off of him, and stalked right back to Kate before anyone could save her.

Maybe he should just go work on a generator. Kate isn’t going to survive this round, and he’s just being useless at this point. He should, he should, but he felt so distracted, he couldn’t help but keep edging the chaos, watching Laurie and Myers dip around walls and duck through windows. It was like watching a pair of cats chase each other around the furniture of a clustered living room.

In the end, though, Kate dies, Laurie gets the slip, and Dwight goes down instead, he himself already on death hook.

Quentin blinks.

And then there were two.

They had two generators left, but Quentin wasn’t sure where the last of them were. He starts making his way towards the shack, only to spy a hollow white face out of the corner of his eye. Quentin bolts.

To be completely honest, Quentin wasn’t the greatest in chase. He knew how to lay low, how to make saves or sacrifices, and he never knew when to call it quits, but he gets distracted easily, and easy distractions means easy panic. Before all this, it was also why he hated driving.

There, suddenly, he stumbles over the bottom of a rocky hill, snapping back from distractions about distractions (and driving) and remembers the cold glare piercing his back. He sprints to the shack, vaulting the window.

He notices two things: the pallet wasn’t there, and this was basement.

Myers rounds the doorway, and Quentin freezes, just for a moment, before running through the other door, Myers hot on his heels. No longer tier three, at least.

Now outside the shack, Quentin scrambles back through the window, knowing he couldn’t stay here, he’ll have to run to some of the ruins after this--

He’s harshly yanked back through the window at his waist, and his stomach drops.

Myers has one large hand digging into the back of Quentin’s waistband, and he tosses Quentin easily towards the ground, before replacing his arm around his waist fully, and lifting him onto his shoulder. All in the span of a few seconds, with Quentin barely having any time to even yell.  
He doesn’t take him to basement, though, and instead throws him on a hook in the middle of some crumbling ruins, near the outermost wall of the trial. 

It was Quentin’s first time on hook. At some point during his embarrassingly short chase with Myers, Laurie managed to pop a generator. Only one left now.

Quentin should just kill himself, have Laurie get hatch, try again next trial. But Myers wasn’t camping, and for some reason, Quentin gets distracted. No, not distracted, tired. He wouldn’t go as far as fall asleep on hook, but he definitely needed to close his eyes for a few seconds, just a few. He doesn’t have the energy to even lift his arms, to try and pull himself off and piss off the Entity.

He’ll stay on for a few seconds, give Laurie a chance to properly find the hatch, then he’ll kill himself.

When he opens his eyes, he’s off the hook, and Laurie is crouched behind the pallet in front of him, flashlight in hand. 

He pauses, dazed. Then, in a slurred whisper, “Laurie?”

She glances at him briefly, and puts a finger to her lips. Then, she slams the pallet right as Myers turns the corner.

The heavy thunk and hammering heartbeat sets Quentin back into survival mode. Laurie saved his ass, so now he needed to move and get healed.

As Laurie shines the light into Myers’ eyes, Quentin moves over the nearest window as quietly as he could, making his way to the back, near a corner. 

Laurie gives Myers’ another good run throughout the asylum, and Quentin is given time to quietly work on a generator outside. He focuses enough to not blow up the generator, but his head has been pounding since Laurie saved him, and his mind keeps jumping from topic to topic. God, he would give up every item and offering he had back at camp for his ADHD medication right now. While the medication did have an adverse side effect of making him cranky, he was pretty sure he couldn’t get any crankier in this place anyway. Plus, his medication had caffeine in it, and having an extra kick to his system while also being able to actually focus would be godsend in trials. 

To be fair, though, his ADHD wasn’t always bad. Never settling on one idea, noticing every interesting or new detail around him, he’s been able to pick up things much faster than others have, or been able to mentally multitasking with little difficulty. Without a phone or pen, and when interacting with others become too much, his mind’s becomes his only source of entertainment--and it’s always been good at keeping him busy.

A hand settles on his shoulder, and Quentin feels the cold seep to his bones.

It’s a horrible replay of earlier: Myers yanks Quentin off the generator, wires sparking into a small explosion, and Myers’ broad shoulder is digging into his stomach. 

Quentin clutches at the back of Myers’ filthy overalls. “Can’t you be less rude and just stab me?” He mutters, not even finding the energy to struggle. Give Laurie hatch already, please.

But Myers pauses, and Quentin is sliding off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a _thump_. Then, Myers’ stoops down, grasping Quentin’s calves, and drives the knife into both of his thighs.

Quentin yells in pain, then groans lowly. He’s going to be playing this game. Of course, Myers’ would never give Laurie an opportunity to escape if he can help it.

Pressing his hands desperately onto his open wounds--and god, they’re bleeding a lot, it really does hurt--Myers pulls himself back up, and takes a moment to stare at Quentin’s slumped form.

Quentin leans his head back, and stares right back. “Don’t worry, I won’t be doing anything here.” he snipes, “Go do your fuckin’ taxes or something, dude.” Briefly, Quentin wonders if Myers even knew what taxes _were_.

Myers tilts his head, lightly nudges Quentin with his foot, and Quentin just rolls away. When he looks back, Myers is gone.

He was bored already. 

He starts to crawl, dragging himself out of the enclosure of crumbling claret bricks and into the open field, with its greying weeds and whispering fog. Here, he can see that Laurie’s been found again, their chase resuming in the asylum.

She vaults over a window, and actually leaves the building to get to a pallet situated between some rocks, right at the cluster of trees Quentin was currently bleeding out at. 

Myers follows through the window as well, and Laurie ducks behind the rocks as he approaches. 

Quentin considers saying something stupid--“Hey Laurie, want some help?”--but decides that it’d be better to let her focus. 

He wishes he could bleed out faster.

Especially when Laurie finally--finally--goes down next to him.

“Hey,” he says as she tumbles to the ground.

Her face is pressed into the dirt, making her voice muffled. “Hello, Quentin. Lovely day we’re having.”

“The fucking best.”

Above them, Myers takes the time to stare. If he was capable of feeling any sort of emotion, Quentin guessed he would be feeling rather satisfied right now. Maybe even smug.

Then he makes the mistake of picking up Laurie first.

She’s back on her feet in seconds, Myers’ grappling with the large chunk of glass sticking out of his shoulder, and Laurie uses the few seconds she has to pull Quentin back to his feet. 

Admittedly, he had forgotten about her stabbing habits with the chaos of his mind, and being back on his feet gave him a major case of whiplash.

Laurie had already darted away, and Quentin was left stumbling next to a recomposed Myers.

Fuck this, Quentin thought. He just wanted to die and for Laurie to get hatch. So when Myers turned to him, he sprinted to the nearest locker and threw himself inside.  
Through the slits of the doors, he watches Myers approach slowly, stopping right in front of the locker. But he doesn’t open the locker, he just stands and waits. 

Quentin crosses his arms and leans back. He wasn’t leaving of his own volition anytime soon.

Myers does waste a few good seconds staring at the locker, maybe amused, maybe confused, maybe just as fed up as he is. Doesn’t make it any less creepy, still. He was standing rather close, and even then, Quentin couldn’t see his eyes behind the hollow darkness of his mask.

“If you want me out of this locker you’re gonna have to kill me,” he says, loud enough so that Myers can hear him through the metal door. “Or let Laurie get the last gen. Your call.”

The mention of Laurie has him throwing open the locker--“Oh, hey--”--and pulling Quentin out by the collar. Arm around his waist and back onto Myers’ shoulder, he doesn’t struggle this time.

Myers’ ignores the first nearest hook. Then he ignores the next one he passes, then the next one, and the next one, and the one after that.

Quentin lightly hits Myers in the chest with his knee. “You missed a hook back there, buddy. A lot of hooks, actually. What’re you doing?”

Predictable silence--Myers continues to carry him around, even going through the asylum at one point. Quentin doesn’t see Laurie once. He was starting to get bored, but at the same time, curious, so he doesn’t wiggle. He does start talking though.

“Do you even know what taxes are?” he asks, “Like, have you ever done them? Before you came here. You’re a big guy, I’m sure you’re old enough that you have to do them. Did you ever or did you just, like, kill whoever tried to make you do them?” he shifts a bit on Myers’ shoulder. “Oh, my god, is that tax evasion? Killing all the tax collectors who come your way? Michael are you a _tax evader_?”

The idea of Michael Myers--Laurie’s murderous estranged brother and the man who’s ended Quentin’s own life numerous times--as a serious tax evader was so bizarrely normal but plausibly criminal made him wheeze. Quentin rub at his eyes as he laughed. He couldn’t stop now, Myers’ was still walking around, definitely not looking for a hook, so he had to keep going with this.

“Okay, okay, we need to start from the basics here. Capitalism. Do you know what that is? Have you ever paid for anything in your life, dude? Worked for money? Dollar bills, green rectangular papers, or coins, metal circle things. Did you ever do some work and people like, gave you those in return? Or, shit, wait, did you just steal everything and think that was it. If anyone tried to stop you it was just like, a battle of who’s stronger and therefore worthy of the item? Kill or be killed, scavenge to survive, the Alpha must win, some bullshit like that. Fuck, man, do you know what the Pythagorean Theorem is?” Quentin was getting too into this. This happened a lot: he gets invested in something, and soon a whole wave comes out. Entire rants, tangents, taking a joke and running all the way to the other side of town with it. Easily distracted indeed.

Myers stopped walking, suddenly, and Quentin shuts up as well. Guess he finally annoyed him enough to kill him on the spot. He couldn’t even be scared of that. None of them were scared of dying anymore, really; they knew they’ll always come back (but there were times of doubt). It’s become more of a fear of pain, of dying in a way that’s preventable or cowardly, so almost a pride thing. A fear of reliving hell. Or maybe that was just him.

He’s slid off of Myers’ shoulder--not dropped suddenly, this was borderline, dare he think it, _gentle_ \--and held up in front of Myers’, from under the arms. He’s at eye-level, and dangling a good foot off the ground like this. He really weighed nothing to the killers.

Nervousness bloomed immediately, “Uh, sorry for accusing you of tax evasion?” he offered weakly. He had no idea what Myers could want now.

More staring, just for a few seconds, then he’s let go. Not careful like earlier, but Quentin is able to stay on his feet. Now they’re staring at each other. Quentin rubs at his upper right chest--where the hook always go through and thus, always has a phantom pain to it--and presses a palm to one of the wounds on his thigh. Myers begins to leave, and Quentin watches as he goes back to the asylum, never looking back at him.

Quentin stands in shock for a good minute. He just let him go? Really? He knew that sometimes the killer’s would show mercy on certain survivors from time to time (it was rare, but it happened), but Myers was never one of those killers. Myers seemed to never like having any survivors.

Well.

He should probably take what’s he’s been given, before he regrets it.

He finds another generator, this one in the asylum, in the front, curved windowed room at the first floor. It was more open than the one upstairs, but it was the closest, offered the best insight of the outside and inside, and Quentin was feeling too jittery to want to waste any time running around. He just wanted to get the last generator and leave already.

He’s halfway through it when a bleeding Laurie comes scrambling through the room, heading straight to the window on his left. She gives him a warning look as she does, and Quentin freezes in his work. Myers’ appears right as Laurie vaults the window, and Quentin looks at him apprehensively. Myers only turns his head to him slightly, and doesn’t slow down, as he goes through the same window Laurie did, focused on the chase.

Fingers shaking, breath breaking, Quentin hurries to finish the generator.

The generator lights up and the exit gates blare right when Laurie screams. 

Quentin moves over the same window the two went through earlier, and makes his way to the nearest exit gate. His plan is to get it open, then rip Laurie off the hook, and hopefully take a hit and give them both enough time to get out.

After opening the gate, Quentin locates her hook near the outside of the asylum. She’s already in struggle, desperately clawing against the blackened appendages surrounding her. 

Myers is situated only a few feet away from her. He turns to Quentin when he hears his footsteps.

Usually, in this situation, Quentin would just make a break for it, take a hit on his way to the hook, and then go down and sacrifice himself as he pulls her off.

But he wasn’t sure now. And Myers’ is staring at him.

Quentin takes a few tentative steps forward.

Myers shakes his head.

Quentin sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Please?”

Myers begins to approach him, and Quentin moves back. 

Past Myers, Quentin looks at Laurie, and she looks at him. She grimaces, then lets go.

Myers pauses, and cocks his head towards the hook, not seeming pleased or angry or surprised, just acknowledging Laurie’s pierced, devoured fate.

Quentin bolts back to the exit gate, feeling heavy.

He pauses outside of it, leaning against the brick wall. He hated it when people died for him. He wasn’t worth it, he never was, they were though, that’s why he always did it. The guilt was sickening and he knows he’s not going to be able to look at Laurie properly for a while. He’s going to need to calm down, just for a bit, before he leaves.

The hook Kate died at was just nearby. Under the broken mast, he sees the toolbox she was carrying.

Yeah, sure, he’ll take it.

It wasn’t the worst toolbox, but it definitely wasn’t the best. It’s modifications were subpar as well. Either she just found it lying around, or she just threw it together before the trial. He couldn’t remember if she had it before they went in.

He snags it. Taking items from those who died was something he didn’t need to feel guilty about; none of them did. It was better to take them and give them more use in later trials--especially if they were rare. (Plus, he could always give it back to her if she really wanted it. Which was doubtful, as it was a pretty shitty toolbox).

He turns back to the gate, and Myers is there.

Quentin tenses. Myers is all that’s between him and the open gate, and he’s much closer to Quentin than he is to the gate.

“I…” Quentin starts, then swallows, and tries again. “I don’t know why you did what you did, and I really don’t know if I should thank you or curse you, and I also know that asking will get me nothing, but still. Why?”

Myers reaches out with his open hand, not at his throat like a Mori, but more to the top of his head, near his hair. Quentin reels back out of instinct, regardless.

That seems to set Myers off, for whatever reason, and he shifts, bringing his knife around. He swings it in a sort of feint, far enough for Quentin to not get hit, but close and specific enough to get the message. _Get out_.

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” Quentin bursts away, through the gate, clutching the toolbox, and never looking back.

He might lay off on the tax evasion accusations for a bit. 

Just for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> god i really, really love quentin you guys. y'all need to write more fics about my boy, honest to god
> 
> will i write a sequel? doubtful! i actually got embarrassed writing this like halfway through it! im like, 10x more comfortable writing about girls, tbqh
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading and feel free to send any possible requests! my tumblrs velletrix and im ready to yell abt anything dbd related


End file.
